


Stay With Me (Always)

by TwisterMelody



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: ACD Canon References, Angst, Fluff, Friendship, His Last Vow Spoilers, Love, M/M, Romance, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/pseuds/TwisterMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When a love is meant to be, two souls will chase each other across a thousand lifetimes, searching for the promise of forever.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay With Me (Always)

Time is a funny thing.

With time, one can tell the strength of a bond, whether it be between bricks and cement or friendship and love.

In the heart of London, there is a building, perhaps the most important building still standing today. St. Bart's Hospital is proof that all of these things can weather any storm. Within its walls, a love like no other is born, ready to stand up to that test.

Sherlock Holmes is no ordinary man, nor is he a creature of habit. There is tobacco hidden within his slippers, soft serenades of a violin hidden within his home, and a heart hidden behind a cold mask that no one dares to peel away. He is unkempt, unorthodox, and unlikely to befriend. If one were to ask him, he would reply that he was just as well off alone, thank you very much.

John Watson walks into his life one day, and his way of living is completely thrown off balance, a carriage in his mind running down an empty path suddenly thrown onto a new road with this man alongside him. There is only one man capable of seeing beyond the harsh angles of Sherlock Holmes, and he comes in the form of a battered soldier.

An unlikely pair, they are, and they seem to know as much. Sherlock Holmes, with his eagle-eyed gaze and slicked back hair, well-kept suits and willowy figure often towers over everyone in sight. John Watson, with his careful smiles and well-defined mustache, his broad shoulders and attentive eyes is the only man in the city, perhaps in the world, welcome to stand beside such a figure without being cast in the shadows. They clash at times like two colliding storms. The understanding heart of the soldier often rails against the calculating mind of the detective, but their differences sort themselves out, and like two puzzle pieces, they fit.

The London night belongs to them. Sherlock Holmes is prone to drugs, but when John Watson comes along, he finds himself giving in to temptation less frequently, living on a new kind of high. The clattering of shoes against worn cobblestone echo through the alleyways after dark. They chase criminals, they chase theories, and most importantly, they chase each other. Where one goes the other will always follow. When it comes to Holmes and Watson, it is both or none. Dense fog rises through the gas lamp lit streets as they catch their breath between laughter. Starlight sprinkles across the sky as it shines along, brightening the happiness in their smiles and the adoration in their eyes.

Daylight brings about long walks, two halves linked together by the arm as they walk along the busy Victorian streets. Strange hats don their heads and joy dons their souls in the sunlight. They fall into step with each other so easily, and neither one of them dare to think of their lives possibly changing.

Baker Street is warm and inviting. The fire flickers on, the flames dancing along to the enchanting melodies of a violin. The music is plucked from the depths of a once cold heart, warmed by the companionship of another not-so-ordinary man. There's tea and long talks and stretches of comfortable silence lingering along with the swirling smoke from an old pipe and the writings of stories. The two of them exist so perfectly together, and Holmes wonders if it can always be like this.

Of course, it can't be.

Through the explosions and gunfire, experiments and deductions, an unexpected surprise sneaks through in the form of love.

Love is difficult, and being unable to express it as you watch the one you love get taken away is the hardest thing in the world. For Holmes, he endures it when Watson marries away, and he refuses to acknowledge his own feelings for he cannot act upon them. For Watson, he experiences a harsher heartbreak in sudden disappearance, but it gets pieced back together after three long years. For each other, they would wait until the end of days for their love to return. But their love is a rare love, and the world isn't ready. The time isn't right.

They know. They never dare to speak of it, but they know. It's easier this way, they think. To let it all play in the silence, so they do just that. Years crawl by as strands of grey camouflage themselves in their hair, their joints slowly break down, and the light fades from their eyes as they drift apart.

A cold wind blows on the very last day as they stand together.

"Stay with me," says Holmes as he places his aging pale hand over Watson's. _Always_ , he thinks. He thinks, he hopes, he prays to a God he doesn't believe in for this one favor; for his dear Watson to stay with him for the rest of his days, to dance along in the silence they've placed around hidden words. If he had to hide away within himself for this to happen, then so be it. For his dear Watson, he would do anything.

Quiet washes over them. "For now," Watson answers after a moment. They gaze off into the empty fields in front of them.

Holmes tightens his hand around Watson's and savors the moment before the wind takes him away and freezes over his heart.

* * *

Time goes on, and like a lost carriage, the wheels turn along the same path, only changed by the seasons.

When a love is meant to be, two souls will chase each other across a thousand lifetimes, searching for the promise of forever.

The universe is stubborn, and it's no coincidence when St. Bart's beckons them once again. There's a sudden jolt of lightning that strikes in the backs of their minds, and they can never quite place the odd sense of deja vu.

Their souls are old but their bodies are young and the world is new and they are free of the restrictions and rules of lifetimes past. There is a head of unruly curls and a clean-shaven face, but their eyes remain the same. Sherlock is free from the lonely confines of his mind, and John from the empty shell of his heart, and they fill in each other beautifully. John replaces Sherlock's drugs, and Sherlock becomes John's drug of choice.

Sherlock Holmes has the pride and knowledge of a great mind of a detective while John Watson has the heart of a doctor and the will of a soldier. Sherlock, with his harsh ways and old habits, pushes John to the edge, but he never leaves. John always pushes right back, fighting hard against the tide. The man himself is a mystery that Sherlock can never unravel. With John at his side, everything suddenly seems so easy, so familiar. They rotate around each other as the sun and the moon, each bringing their own light to their world.

John takes Sherlock's tobacco from his slippers, and nicotine patches replace his smoking habit. Sherlock steals John's attention and heals his wounds left from the war. There are holes in the walls, knives in the board games, and tea in the kettle of 221B Baker Street. They bicker and argue like an old married couple, and they laugh and tease like schoolboys, and it's all fine.

London is littered with corpses and cabs and crime scenes. The fog of an old era is cleared away, a new breath of life forming in front of them. They run through the city streets as the sky above them fades to black, their feet pounding against the pavement, breathless and hearts racing, their veins filled with adrenaline. They bask in the moonlight as laughter escapes their lungs, sirens and horns and the sounds of the city fading into the background. It's the two of them versus the rest of the world, and they are more than happy about it. They grin wildly at each other, the thrill of the chase written across their faces, shining brightly under the street lights.

Their time is fast paced, their days fitting in between odd movie marathons, take out food, and experiments gone wrong. There are murders abound and lives to be saved as adventures are recorded onto a blog, full of tales of explosions and chases and silly hats. Lazy mornings are spent with one of them drawn out on the sofa as the other reads the paper in comfortable silence. Clients come and go, they walk side by side into any storm. They fall into an easy pattern, neither of them wanting it to break.

Their home is just that; theirs. Baker Street stands the test of time, landmark of sorts in their lives. It is theirs to be comfortable, to show sides of themselves hidden away from the world behind closed curtains. A familiar serenade sings from the soul of the violin. Words of a great mind and a great heart weave their way between the notes, staying hidden from view, but wrapped in plain sight. John smiles warmly and Sherlock returns the gesture, his heart bursting with happiness. He thinks he can spend the rest of his life this way, and wonders if John feels the same.

Time is an odd thing, and it often it twists within itself, fitting the same elements into a new puzzle.

Sherlock falls, fast and hard. Once off a building, and once into the locked room of his heart. He keeps both it and himself hidden, only returning to find John has thrown away the key to his heart and has unlocked that of another. When John loses Sherlock, he loses a piece of himself, and he's never quite the same. When Sherlock returns, he feels like he's finally breathing again, but such a wound in this day and age is not so easily healed, and he's worn at the edges.

For John Watson, false happiness comes in the form of a marriage. But, he's never quite content, and his dreams whisk him away to the world his heart wishes to be. The very same marriage takes Sherlock's happiness away, and he hides himself behind a cold mask and colder words, bitter and regretful for leaving it all so desperately unspoken.

Everyone knows, but it's treated as the elephant in the room. Both men long set in their ways and incredibly stubborn, they play along in the silence again, dancing around the obvious. Love hides itself in gestures and sentences, pairing itself off with others, and the pain it causes them both is too great to voice.

It's all too familiar, and the universe itself can only go through the same song and dance so many times before it tires of repeating. Their broken record takes a skip as static crashes into their lives, and it forms itself on lies, taking the shape of bullet scars and heartbreak and death.

Everything they know is suddenly thrown off balance, and they need each other, desperately.

The universe is built on chaos, and their lives are attracted to it like moths to a flame. Danger beckons them with the promise of love and a lifetime of excitement on the horizon. Their love is a rare love, and the times have changed, and so has the world around them.

When the silence is broken, the past thrown away, their chaos forms something beautiful.

A new song sings out one night, and there's a shift between them. They go hand in hand, dancing along in the dark. Their bodies are held together by a new hope, their limbs tangled and hair disheveled. A new heat rises between them, and they take it on together between bits of laughter and breathy moans and soft murmurs of declarations against naked skin. Their faces are flushed and their eyes bright and drunk on happiness as their souls intertwine. Their hearts beat wildly within the cages of their ribs as they lay on their sides and curl around each other.

John's arms are warm and strong around Sherlock's body, reassuring and safe.

"Stay with me," Sherlock whispers as he pulls his arms around John, holding him tightly, unwilling to let him go. His one desire is to have his John alongside him for the rest of his days, to chase criminals and and each other and live along the sharp edge of danger. He needs him in his life, to be with him as their hair turns grey, knowing he's the reason for the laugh lines along his face. He waits. For John, he would wait forever. Always for his John, he would do anything.

There is no hesitation as John presses a kiss to his skin. "Always," he whispers into his mess of curls.

Sherlock breathes out a sigh of contentment, savoring the moment with his ear pressed against John's chest, the beating of his heart proving evidence of his words. They fall asleep wrapped up within one another, their spoken declarations breaking down the walls of time. Warmth covers their bodies and their hearts as two souls connect as one, unbreakable, for the rest of their days.

The lost carriage derails onto a new, brighter path for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, together, always.


End file.
